


Talking Body

by Invictusimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Sam, First Time, Hurt Dean, Love Confessions, M/M, Riding, Spells & Enchantments, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invictusimpala/pseuds/Invictusimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A huge, deep gash spans from Dean’s hip to his knee, about an inch wide, spilling blood and something else all over. His veins are bright red, and Sam inhales sharply.<br/>“Dean, you have blood poisoning, we need to get you to a --”<br/>“<em>No</em>. I have ingredients in my bag and a ritual, just do it.”<br/>Sam hurries to get it from the car, but as he starts to read it makes him panic more.<br/>“Dean, the side-effects for the ritual --”<br/>“Are fine, I already looked at ‘em, just do it, it fuckin’ hurts.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Body

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt I received on my tumblr. Thank so much for reading, enjoy :)

“Dean, shit, work with me here,” Sam bites out, and tries to hold more of Dean’s weight, but his brother stops cooperating, and lets his entire body go slack.

“Where’re we? Wanna go pick up chicks? Come on, girls dig me,” Dean slurs, and Sam stumbles.

“Just get in the room, Jesus Christ, come _on_ ,” Sam growls, but Dean just laughs and pats his cheek.

“You’re kinda hot when you’re angry.”

“Shut up and lay down.” Sam helps Dean to splay out on the bed, but Dean calls out as his leg brushes the mattress. “Sorry, sorry. Come on, lay down.”

Dean lays back down, but his face is contorted in pain.

“Can I look?” Sam asks, and helps Dean to take off his pants when he nods. “Fuck, Dean, how long ago did you get hurt? Why did you hide this? We need to get you to a hospital _now_.”

“No. They’re gonna ask questions, and I can’t have that, m’kay?”

A huge, deep gash spans from Dean’s hip to his knee, about an inch wide, spilling blood and something else all over. His veins are bright red, and Sam inhales sharply.

“Dean, you have blood poisoning, we need to get you to a --”

“ _No_. I have ingredients in my bag and a ritual, just do it.”

Sam hurries to get it from the car, but as he starts to read it makes him panic more.

“Dean, the side-effects for the ritual --”

“Are fine, I already looked at ‘em, just do it, it fuckin’ hurts.”

“I . . . fine, but if you die don’t blame me.”

Sam prepares all of the herbs into a mortar and beats it down with a pestle and some distilled water. He adds a bunch of oils, lamb’s blood, and mixes it up into a paste that he slathers into the hole in Dean’s leg.

Dean bites down on a pillow as he screams, and Sam cringes, but doesn’t stop filling the crevice with the green-red mixture.

He whispers words of comfort as he does it, and as he finishes he switches to Latin to finish off the spell.

Dean’s hands fist in the sheets and his back shoots off the bed. Sam slams his hand over his mouth as a blood-curdling scream rips from his throat.

“Oh god, Sam, Sammy, I’m gonna die, gonna die. I feel like I’m dyin’, can’t even see you.”

Dean’s eyes are wide, but he tracks things Sam can’t see, and after his declaration he starts talking gibberish, a string of words Sam doesn’t understand. “Sam, are you there? Sam?” He babbles.

Hallucinations are part of the healing process, the ritual says, so Sam doesn’t worry too much about it. He lays a hand on Dean’s arm and sits there with him while he writhes.

Eventually he settles down into a more relaxed state, and he slurs words Sam can’t hear, but gradually he gets more coherent the more paste Sam applies, which he does every hour or so until it’s gone.

When Sam looks back at Dean, he’s looking right at him, dopey grin on his face.

“Ya know, I lo’ ya, right?”

“Yeah, I know, Dean, stay down.” Sam pushes at his shoulders when Dean reaches out for him, and Sam stays laying down next to him when he won’t stay put.

“Mm, you’re so warm, like a big blanket. Wish you loved me back, Sammy, would make things a hell of a lot easier.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, and his brow furrows. Dean rolls over on top of him, and Sam helps him to prop his leg off to the side, now wrapped in gauze.

“You don’t love me, and I get it. I’m trash. Literal trash, Sammy. You should hate me for loving you like this. You should leave,” Dean says gruffly. “You should leave and finish Stanford, maybe then I’d be able to move on. Didn’t want you to go, Sam, trust me, please,” Dean sobs, and he clings to Sam like a life line.

“Dean, I know, okay? You . . . I know you didn’t want me to go. I’m glad you came and got me, don’t feel bad.”

“I could’a found dad on my own, and I came and got ya instead. I shouldn't have done it. I killed Jess, Sammy, I’m so sorry.”

“No, you didn’t, that wasn’t anyone’s fault, okay? Calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Lo’ you so much.” Dean lips press sloppily to his, and as soon as it starts, it ends. Dean passes out, snoring loud right into Sam’s ear.

Sam wipes his mouth clean of slobber and snot, and he shoves Dean off, being careful not to hurt his leg too much as he gets his injured brother situated.

He stares at him for a few moments before sighing loudly.

“What the hell am I goin’ to do with you,” he mutters. “The shit I do for you, Dean.”

Sam plops himself down in the chair besides Dean’s bed to watch him, but he passes out about an hour in.

* * *

The next morning Sam wakes to find the bed in front of him empty and cold.

“Dean?” He calls.

“Shit, come help me,” he hears Dean croak, and Sam runs down the hall until he finds him, half standing up, propped against the wall. “Still haven’t healed totally,” he laughs, half-joking.

“Why the hell did you get up, then?”

“M’hungry and you didn’t get me anything before I passed out. Super-healing takes it out on a guy, so just . . . whip me up some pancakes or somethin’, I’m starving.”

“Come on, I’ll help you to the kitchen.”

Sam pretends not to see how Dean’s eyes linger on the edge of his collar, or how his eyes close, his lips turning upwards, when Sam’s arm snakes around his waist.

Sam wonders if Dean’s faking being this injured just to get some touch, but really, he himself isn’t complaining. The warmth of another body after going so many months without touching someone is nice, and Sam holds Dean just a little bit longer than necessary.

“Mm, thanks. Now, whatcha got for me?” Dean asks, big smile in place like usual.

“I think we have pancake mix, but it’s almost lunch so I could make a bunch of sandwiches with whatever we have.”

“Sure, sure, whatever. Just feed me.”

As Sam works, he thinks of how to word his thoughts to Dean.

“You know, you said some stuff while you were out of it,” he tries.

Dean freezes at that, and his smile becomes tight. Forced.

“Uh, like what?”

“Well, first you said I was kind of hot when I’m angry,” Sam teases, and Dean flushes, but he doesn’t give himself away.

“Anything else?”

“No,” Sam lies, and he watches Dean relax. “Other than when you kissed me.”

Dean splutters.

“I did not, you big liar,” he forces out, but he doesn’t even look like he’s convinced himself about it.

“Yeah, you, uh, you said a lot.”

“Like fuckin’ what, Sam, spit it out.”

Sam takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“S’nothin’. You just . . . are you okay? Are you feelin’ better?”

“Don’t change the subject, what the hell did I say that has you all jumpy?”

“You said you killed Jess, alright? You said you should have never have come to get me, that you could have gotten dad just fine on your own. You told me to leave, and that you wished I loved you back, and then you kissed me,” Sam spits, and he turns to face Dean, gripping the counter behind him so he doesn’t punch something, all the anger filling his chest as warmth, and his vision with red.

Dean looks stunned, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before it just stays open, his lips parted in surprise.

“So? You have anything to say?”

“I . . . I guess I’ll pack my bags?”

“No, Dean, like was any of that true. Do you actually believe that you killed Jess, and that you shouldn’t have come to get me?”

“‘Course not, Sammy.”

“Do you really want me to leave for Stanford?” Sam asks, and this time he gets right up in Dean’s space.

“No, Sam -- I-I really don’t.”

“Then why did you say it?” Sam asks, and this time it’s quiet, hurt.

“Because I love you, and you don’t love me back,” Dean chokes out, and Sam watches one tear drip down his cheek before he’s so close that they have no choice but to kiss.

Dean’s lips are soft just like Sam thought they’d be without all the slobber in the way, and Dean rushes up to meet Sam, shoving him back against the table.

“Not so hurt after all, huh?” Sam asks, and Dean pushes at his shoulders, not to push away, but to stop him from talking.

“Shut up and kiss me if you really mean it, bitch.”

Sam kisses Dean hard, like the past ten years didn’t happen, like there’s not still a million problems looming just overhead threatening to break them apart at any one moment in time.

No, Sam kisses Dean like the ocean kisses the sand beaches. It’s rhythmic, like it’s happened a million times before even though in this moment it’s their first -- technically their second, but Sam’s willing to forget the first time.

Dean pulls Sam into his lap and kisses him deeper. A little whine caught between their passing mouths that Sam swallows down so there’s no space between them at all is the only sound they make.

His hands find Dean’s face and he traces places he’s traced over and over, but this time it’s different. Slower. More intimate.

When Dean’s hands delve under the edge of Sam’s shirt, just his fingers dancing on the edge of his waistband, Sam shivers and breaks away with a gasp.

“My room or yours?” Dean asks, confident smile back in place.

“I don’t know, think you can make it there without fallin’ over, grandpa?”

“You’re on.”

Sam jumps from Dean’s lap and runs to his brother’s room, but he doesn’t even make it there before he’s being pinned to the wall by Dean’s body.

He could easily escape. With years of practicing with Dean under his belt, he knows every little nook and cranny of his body, every way he can find a loophole out of the embrace Dean’s got him trapped in.

But god he wants to stay right here, with his own warmth and smell lingering with Dean’s, with their bodies pressed close, sharing breath. They stay like that for a minute as the tension grows, until they can’t take it, and then they go crashing into Dean’s room.

They bust the door open with a loud bang that echoes down the hall, and Dean throws Sam onto the bed before he can protest. Then clothes start coming off.

Dean’s pants are already shucked, and he’s left to take off annoying shirts that get in the way of Sam’s mouth pressed against his skin, but he finds a way to continue by mapping newly revealed skin with his lips.

Like Dean’s nipples.

_God_ , the sound that comes out of Dean’s mouth when Sam takes one of Dean’s nipples into his own mouth, laving at it until it hardens against his tongue.

“Oh, S-Sam, take it slow there, buddy, s’been a while since I’ve . . . ya know.”

“Fucked someone?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow. Might as well drag it out. We’re makin’ up for a lot of years lost that we could have been havin’ sex.”

“Keep doin’ that with your m-mouth,” Dean groans, and drops his head down into the pillows while Sam continues to alternate suckling on his nipples.

“D’you got lube?”

“Yeah, hang on a second. Jesus Christ,” Dean pants, and he breaks away to fish around in a drawer until he comes up with a half-used bottle of expensive looking lube, and a ribbed condom.

“Really?” Sam asks, cocking an eyebrow, and Dean smiles wide.

“Hey, I used to get around, remember? You learn some things.”

“Yeah, and how much have you been gettin’ around lately?”

“Uh, not much.”

“Neither have I, but you know what?”

“What?” Dean asks, leaning in so Sam can nibble on his ear lobe.

“I played around in college a little, too, and you learn a lot.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, his voice cracking. “Like what?”

“Like how to ride someone really well,” Sam drawls, and Dean shudders.

“Fuck, Sam. _Fuck._ We shouldn’t. Sam . . .”

“If you don’t want to, you have full rights to step out of the room, but you’ll be missing out on this.” Sam thrusts his hips forward to grind his hard dick with Dean’s. Dean’s legs drop so he sits straddling Sam’s lap, and Sam flips them over to he can grind his ass down on Dean. “Say you want out now, or if you want it, but I won’t be upset either way.”

“Sam --” Dean breathes, but he doesn’t get a chance to say much else because the spot on Dean’s boxers where Sam’s been rubbing the head of his cock through grows progressively wetter and warmer, and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head, a punched out sound escaping past his lips in the form of his name.

“Did you just come?” Sam asks, and when Dean nods his head he groans. “That’s . . . fuck, that’s hot. You really haven’t gotten around much, huh?” Sam pokes at Dean’s belly and he squirms sleepily.

“Shut up,” he slurs. “Just gimme a fuckin’ minute and then you can do what you want,” Dean pants.

Sam clicks open the bottle of lube he’s passed, and he makes a show of opening himself up so Dean gets harder faster.

“I used it as a distraction,” Dean mumbles, rubbing at Sam’s hips while he fingers himself.

“W-what as a distraction?”

“Sex. I thought . . . I thought maybe if I slept around it’d make it easier. There were sometimes when I thought I’d gotten out of it, you know . . . fallen outta love with you, but then you’d walk back in the room and -- and I’d fall all over again. It’s wrong, Sam, I shouldn’t love you like this, it’s . . . it’s --”

“Hey, I want you,” Sam grabs onto Dean’s chin so he has no choice but to look Sam straight in the eye. “I want you more than anything, and there’s nothing in the whole goddamn world that will change that, okay? This isn’t wrong. It’s me, Dean, it’s just me.”

Dean looks at him with wide eyes, fear evident on his face, and Sam kisses it away until Dean relaxes again.

“You ready, Sam? You want my cock in you?”

“F-fuck, yeah, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you so bad right now, you don’t even know.”

Dean takes the condom from his hand and rolls it onto his cock. Sam slicks up his cock with his lube-covered hand, and he strokes himself. He lines everything up, and then he begins to screw himself down with little rolls of his hips that have Dean crying out, this time not in pain.

His hands are vice-tight on Sam’s hips. The bruises there from the hunt have healed, and this time around he won’t groan when he sees them, he’ll grin and remember this moment.

Dean makes a choked off noise and he holds the base of his cock in the circle of his fist for a minute.

“Move,” Dean grunts, and Sam breathes hard as he picks himself up, then starts sinking back down all over again, over and over and over, until Sam’s coming with a cry, and Dean’s filling the condom that’s rubbing the ribbed-texture just right over his prostate.

“Dean!” He shouts, and his spine curves up, his head thrown back. He leans down to suck on Dean’s nipples, and he traces the patch of freshly healed skin, with no scar or any mark to prove what he once had there not twelve hours ago. “Dean,” he says quieter, more reverent this time, and Dean’s eyes flutter closed, his lips parting on a happy sigh as he slumps into the mattress under Sam.

It takes them both a few minutes before they can move again, but then Sam’s rolling off of Dean, and Dean’s moving to clean them up with the over-sheet before throwing it to the side along with the blanket that was under them.

Dean gets a new duvet, and he shakes it out so it lays over Sam’s flushed, sweaty body. The fabric clings to his skin, and when Dean gets under the covers, he clings to Sam, too.

Dean burrows his face into the crook of his neck, and his legs and arms tangle around him.

“Didn’t take you for much of a cuddler,” Sam jokes, and Dean makes a disgruntled noise.

“Mm, only when it’s you.”

“Good to know.” After a beat Dean takes a deep breath and blows it out, his chest slowly rising and falling, eyelashes brushing his cheeks. “Love you,” Sam whispers, and a smile breaks out over Dean’s face.

“Right back atcha, big boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://www.invictus-impala.tumblr.com)  
>  I am taking prompts there, if you're interested :)  
> (More info on that [here](http://www.invictus-impala.tumblr.com/prompt-info))  
> Title taken from the song _Talking Body_ by Tove Lo


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